


Bundled Up Tight (On Christmas Eve)

by BrokenHazelEyes



Series: OT4- Greg/Ed/Sam/Spike [36]
Category: Flashpoint
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cutesy, Fluff, Other, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 07:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4657608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenHazelEyes/pseuds/BrokenHazelEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Move over and make room for me,” Sam yawned, leaning over the back of the couch and poking at the bomb tech’s calf, “Spiiiiiike.” He whined, when his lover just mumbled and melted even more into the couch. “Move over.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bundled Up Tight (On Christmas Eve)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [siennavie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siennavie/gifts).



> I've officially lost it. 
> 
> A/N: I do not own Flashpoint, nor the characters. I do not make a profit; however, it's still my work so please don't repost anywhere. Thanks!

Spike got back to Greg’s apartment first, still jetlagged from the long trip back from Italy, to find a poorly decorated Christmas tree standing, scraggily, in the corner. Dragging his luggage in, the bomb tech plodded towards the laundry machine and sunk down next to it. Numb fingers, chilled from the short walk from his car in the subzero conditions, unzipped the luggage and threw the clothes into the machine.

With a yawn, Spike pressed the start button and clambered to his feet; he rubbed his eyes with the back of his cold hand, blindly heading for the bedroom while pulling his phone out of where it was nestled in his pocket. Sam’s text message, saying that his own plane had just landed, lit up on the four’s group message.

Stripping out of his clothes, Spike shivered as his nude skin broke out in bumps. In response, the brunette pulled on a pair of Ed’s sweats—which were too long and pooled around his feet while riding low on his hips—and one of Greg’s horrendous Christmas sweaters. It was oversized, even for the negotiator, so it swamped Spike’s frame. With a bashful smile, he grabbed one of Sam’s hockey beanies, too, and pulled it over his disheveled hair.

What? It had been two weeks, he missed his partners.

Making sure to bring his phone with him, Spike padded back to the living room and plopped down onto the couch—swaddled in warm cloth—and pulled the beanie down to cover the tips of his nearly-frost-bitten ears.

Spike fumbled with the remote for a moment, blinking sleepily at the television set, until he managed to find some variation of the Hallmark Channel. It was interesting hearing English after so much Italian—and it took his brain a moment to process the change. Some movie of Christmas in tropical paradise—where there was no snow—was playing.

After a lifetime in Toronto, he’d like to ignore the feet of snow clogging the roadways while visitors gushed over the stuff. And then filled the streets with wrecks because they didn’t know how to drive on the icy sleet.

Besides, Greg always volunteered them to go shovel out the apartment building’s parking lot in the name of “bonding time” and “setting an example for the civilians”.

Turning back to the movie, Spike hugged a pillow under his head and stretched out—arching like a cat until his back cracked and a reedy moan slipped past his chapped lips. He didn’t pay attention to the screen, just buried his face in the pillow and toed the blanket over the back of the couch until it covered his bare feet.

_Wait_ , Spike groaned, swearing internally, _I’ve got to go put their presents under the tree._

Unhappily, Spike slipped off the couch and wandered back to where his suitcase was laying—the already wrapped presents sitting where he’d packed them hours ago. It took some coordination, but he eventually got all the boxes balanced in his arms. It took even more coordination to walk back to the living room, _again_ , and not drop them.

_Then I’ll take a nap_ , the bomb tech nodded to himself, _is it still a nap if it’s 12 hours long?_

Spike arranged the presents under the tree, legs cramping underneath him, and then stumbled back to the couch and flopped on his stomach with another yawn and a dramatic stretch.

_No more getting up,_ Spike told himself drowsily as he nuzzled into the pillow below him and brought the blanket up with one lazy leg until the material rested over the backs of his thighs. _Nap time._

 

* * *

 

Blowing hot air into his hands, Sam raced up the stairs to Greg’s apartment and scrabbled getting the key into the lock. The lights in the house were off, but he saw the corner of Spike’s luggage peeking out from behind a corner. Setting his own on the ground, the blonde sniper pulled off his coat and hung it up next to the bomb tech’s.

The younger sniper pulled off his boots, setting them to the side on a waterproof-mat, and tip-toed into the living room—where the T.V. was playing, quietly, on a holiday channel. It took some effort, but Sam managed to hold back a snort when he saw it was some cheesy Hawaiian Christmas special.

Leave it to Spike to find the one warm-weathered Christmas film playing at eleven o’clock at night.

“Move over and make room for me,” Sam yawned, leaning over the back of the couch and poking at the bomb tech’s calf, “ _Spiiiiiike_.” He whined, when his lover just mumbled and melted even more into the couch. “Move _over_.”

He just got a muffled groan in response, so Sam rolled his eyes and flopped over the back of the couch—landing on Spike’s back as his chest and legs pressed his lover into the sofa.

Spike grumbled, shifting under the sudden weight, but didn’t try to roll free or complain—other than for the annoyed reverberations escaping, stifled, from his throat.

“’s your fault,” Sam shrugged, or at least tried to shrug, and curled his head over Spike’s shoulder.

“Too heavy,” the bomb tech muttered, scooting over and letting Sam flop behind him in the empty space created. The blonde just sagged into the new area and wrapped his arms around Spike’s torso—pulling him closer. Curling up legs up towards his stomach, Sam slipped a leg over Spike’s hip and stuck his foot under the brunette’s knee—eliciting a shiver as cold flesh met heated skin.

“Should’a moved over,” Sam slurred, “Are Greg and Ed home?”

Spike lifted his head off of Sam’s arm, twisting to meet his lover’s gaze with an incredulous stare, and the blonde rolled his blue eyes.

“I’m tired, okay?”

“ _I’m_ the one who flew back from _Italy_.” The bomb tech snorted, “Do you know how bad my ass hurts?”

“Want me to kiss it better?” The blonde purred, but Spike only gave a full-bodied laugh and turned in Sam’s arms so they were facing.

“Yeah,” he smirked, “later, when you don’t look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m not going to pass out,” Sam grunted, nuzzling into Spike’s warmth, “Now shut up and go to sleep.”

“You were talking, too!” Spike shouted, but any further protest was cut off when Sam’s hand pressed his face into the blonde’s neck.

“Shhh…” the younger sniper yawned, “Sleep, Spike. _Sleeeeep_.”

The bomb tech didn’t see the point of continuing the banter.

 

* * *

 

Greg and Ed arrived back at the former’s apartment at the same time, catching gazes in the barren parking lot.

“Spike and Sam’s cars are here,” Greg noticed, walking over to meet his partner, “Think we can petition for never having SRU meetings go past 10 on Christmas Eve?”

“You can try,” Ed shrugged, climbing the steps to the apartment while fishing out his keys, “Can you file that complain _after_ we get some sleep?”

“I think they went to sleep, already, Eddie,” Greg laughed, fighting out of his oppressive winter wear, and stood over the couch—watching with a fond smile.

“I’ll carry Spike if you carry Sam,” Ed bartered, “I mean, if we can even separate them.”

“Spike’s lighter,” Greg said simply, shooting his lover a knowing look when the bald sniper grinned.

“I know.”

Rolling his eyes, Greg motioned for Ed to go ahead—and the older sniper pried Sam’s hands off of their younger lover, pulling the bomb tech into his arms and hauling him up into the air and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Waking up for a split second, Spike blinked and smiled drunkenly—patting Ed’s ass firmly and mumbling a weak “merry Christmas” before falling right back asleep.

The two older men broke out laughing instantly, Greg nearly falling over, and they had tears in their eyes.

Brushing those away, Greg pulled Sam into his grasp and carried the man, bridal style, after Ed and Spike.

“Merry Christmas,” the negotiator whispered, helping Ed tuck their two younger lovers into bed and crawling in himself, and pulled the heavy winter blankets over them all. The holiday lights twinkled on outside the bedroom window, gleefully and vibrant—dimmed only by a sheet of fresh snow.

With a sigh, they all snuggled together and ignored the clock—it clicked to midnight, it clicked to Christmas day.


End file.
